Trouble Brewing
by fairlies
Summary: Jacan Twins,Osie and Mittie,run away from a convent. Heading to Manhattan,where they steal money from the bewildered newsies. But when one decides that living on the street is no longer an option, does she make a mistake by asking Spot Conlon for a loan?
1. Escape the Nuns

**~Trouble Brewing~ **

_**by Ragmuffin and Co-written by Somewhat Sentient**_

_(Mittie's point of view)_

"Ladies Jacan, where do you believe you two are going are going?"

Stiffening, I turned around the see who had called us. _Of course._It was the head nun in the convent; Lady Annabelle. She always seemed to catch us doing something we weren't suppose to be doing; the woman was a pain. Sending my sister an annoyed look, I knew she was thinking the same thing; _That's_ _ten strokes with a ruler. _

That was the usual punishment for girls who stepped out of line at the Bronx Catholic School for Troubled Girls. Or as my sister and I came to know it as, Hell on Earth. And to be frank, it was true; the nuns worked a tight shift, making sure that we all stayed social outcasts. Since we had come here at the ripe age of twelve, we haven't stepped a foot outside. _No one can say we haven't tried though._

But this time we weren't trying to escape; just stealing some extra food from the kitchen. It's not like they don't feed us; indeed they do, practically a feast everyday. Nuns are nuns though, and wouldn't let us take some of the bountiful food for a snack later on.

So, showing great initiative, we decided to steal some from the pantry. Although we weren't hungry, we needed the food for something else; _escaping. _After a year of failed attempts, my sister and I had finally seen the error of our ways. The trick to escaping was to _not._ We had to trick the nuns into thinking we weren't doing exactly that.

If you must know, my sister was the one that thought of the idea. Everyday Lady Annebelle brings all of the girls to Mass, across the street. But she won't be able to this time; her understudy is in need of 'field' work. My sister noticed and planned for our escape. All we needed now was some courage and provisions for the trip.

Shifting my wieght to my left foot, I waited for my sister to give me the run signal. Shaking her head, I gripped the fresh bread. In her hand was some non-perishables, like dried fruit and nuts. The nun hadn't seen the food yet, so we tucked it into our bodices. The white-collared maroon dresses constricted our room to breathe; the extra items on our person did not help.

"We were looking for the bathroom, Lady Annabelle."

As if that would convince the nun. I had given that excuse more times than I could count. But the nun seemed to believe us; I had managed to convince her we had eye problems, and that we had no idea how to get around the place. _She still doesn't get why I make a point of calling her beautiful._ Pushing us lightly, she led us towards our room. No punishment for today, because the nun had to hurry to grab her understudy.

Locking the wooden door behind us, we stared at our humble abode. It was mainly empty, only dust bunnies, two beds and a meek nightstand._ Is it wrong to be happy that we have our own room?_ All the other girls had to room four to one. Our father had payed extra for one room at the convent.

Curling my lip, I regretted thinking about the man that sent us here. Eversince our mother had perished, he had been cold and distant. If you were looking for a sob story from a girl being hit by her father, my life is not it. Sure, he hit us, but not bone cracking, skin splitting and blood gushing voilence.

He was a horrible father after her death though; ignoring us and sending discouraging words our way. I remember retaliating against him for being rude to my sister, and he in turn sent us to the convent. It was worse than being orphaned; at least you knew that your parents loved you. But our dad had abandoned us, and had not looked back.

Osie turned around to face me, carefully taking out her food. Doing the same, I held my hand out to her, in which she placed her food. Grabbing a lilac bag from underneath my bed, I hid the food away in it. Osie, my twin sister, who had been fretting for the past few minutes, gave me a light smirk, asking,

"Was that really the best you could do, Mittie?"

Forming a pout on my face, I stated in mock hurt,

"Let's see you try and come up with an excuse on the spot."

Waving her hand at me dismissively, her tone changed to one of a know-it-all,

"If you must know, I had over five up my sleeve just in case."

Turning to each other, we cracked a grin; we both knew she was lying. Not bothering to kick off my shoes, I plopped down onto my bed. _Hmm... she hasn't said anything yet._ A small frown coming onto my tanned face, I turned to see my sister sitting on her bed. Her smooth fingers were clutching her head; she was deeply concerned. Asking her with as little sarcasm as I could manage,

"What's wrong my doppelganger, you haven't even reprimanded me yet."

Giving a sigh that would put a wise old sage to shame, she replied,

"Are you sure you want to?"

To anyone else in my situation, they would have thought she was asking if I was sure I wanted to escape. _Hell yeah._ But to me, she was saying, _I don't think I can do it._ Getting up, I walked over to my sister and put a hand on her shoulder, comforting words pooling out of my mouth,

"Don't go and wimp up on me just yet, Osie. You'll be fine," Giving her a crooked grin, "After all, you're related to me. And with me by your side, you'll be able to take on scabbers!"

Punching the air to accentuate my point, I felt the tension in the air drop. Telling her softly to get some sleep, I went back to my own bed. The covers were frigid and cold, making me shiver involuntarily. Rolling my body into a ball to conserve heat, I didn't bother changing into a nightgown. Just as I was about to drift off into the Sandman's realm, I heard my sister ask rhetorically,

"What the hell is a Scabber?"

* * *

><p><em>(Osie's point of view)<em>

The sound of feet hitting the pavement echoed in my mind, some kids tripping over their own shoes sometimes, others trying to keep head and chins up like royalty. I took one glance at them and felt a twinge of jealousy. The fact they could do that seemed surreal, especially for someone like me. Even now I walked and sometimes talked like I was from the gutter, vowels slipped off my tongue and endings dropped to the ground. And I was the intelligent one. As we got closer to the church, Mittie turned to me and gave a small nod of her head.

Of course, this is where her work was done, and mine began.

I tried to think of all the different ways to escape from the single file line towards Mass. There was stepping on another girl's foot and making her scream bloody murder to distract the nun, but there was always broken friendship in such a scenario. We would need correspondents in the school, for food and provisions. Destroying allegiances wasn't the steady hand of a mastermind. It was a foolish slip-up. I rethought it - there could be the duck and run away plan. But that only worked in storybooks or in the news. We didn't work like the adventurers and such in the papers. So that was officially out of the question.

I felt a girl's back thud against me, and sighed. Time for holy water. Our church was odd in a small way. The holy water was outside of the main building, something the nuns told us was to help share God with all the living creatures. Where in truth, the birds used it as a bath and the hopping frogs a place to lay eggs. I glanced at the steps a few paces in front of us, and knew I'd have to make a move now. Making a plan wasn't the best idea at the moment, when everything was weighed. I'd have to act like my sister.

And bluff until Satan's spawn came out for me.

I lightly patted the girl in front of me, letting her know that this was another little escapade of ours. Little did she know. Quickly and silently, I moved girls out to the side and then they filled the empty spots behind me, the entire line shifts until I got to the middle and gripped my sister's shoulder. She didn't even flinch, just turned nonchalantly and got out of line herself.

All the other girls watched, in a strange mix of respect and horror, as we both sauntered down the sidewalk and towards the bushes and trees. The nuns were just turning around to address the rest of the girls, to let them know how to make the sign of the cross with the holy water, as they'd just demonstrated themselves. Surprise couldn't even show in their eyes by the time we'd made it halfway across the plains, and disappeared into the greenery.

Lady Annabelle's understudy was the only official who registered it all, the final leave of the two mysterious Jacan twins. Her eyes opened wide for a second, and each girl shifted uneasily, scared of the punishment they'd share with us this time. Then, slowly, wrinkles undid themselves in her face, eyes shrunk down to their regular size, and open mouth pursed once again. What I saw that second unnerved me, more than the frantic whispers of my sister as we cut through thorns and the small ribbons of blood as I ignored her. A flash of relief, as if she were washing her hands of something, and bitter loss.

Somehow, the fact that she let it go, overshadowed the sudden freedom my sister and I ran head on into.

And this, this act to no longer care about the two troublesome girls, kept me up at night.

**~A.N~**

**I hope you guys like the first chappie. Just so you know, I am writing Mittie's point of view, and Somewhat Sentient is writing Osie's. It's interesting how our writing styles differ. Feel free to express your opinions of the new story!**


	2. Debut at Tibby's

_(Mittie's point of view)_

Smoke and alcohol; sweat and blood. In other words, the sweet stench of freedom.

After escaping from the convent, Osie and I traveled closer to our destination; Manhattan. According to my younger twin, we would arrive in the afternoon the next day. We spent some money boarding at a fancy hotel, despite my audible objections. We had stopped because night was closing in, and we still wore our convent uniform. After walking so far, the abused dresses stuck to our bodies and held a horrid stench. I was thankful for the hot water bath at the hotel; it took around half an hour to scrub all the grime out of my hair.

Today, after an event less night, we arrived in Manhattan; my sister correct, for the sun had only started to descend. The entire borough was filled with hawking newsies; some charming, and others lame. The pedestrians wore clothing similar to the newsies; long pants, button up shirts and for women simple dresses. Glancing at my sister, I knew for a fact that we stuck out like sore thumbs; the fact that we sported a dark tan had not helped. Grabbing her hand, I tugged at her to follow me. Leading her towards a store that wore the sign, 'Jame's Tailoring'.

The chime of a bell signaled our arrival, and immediately a young man came to our aid. I could tell he was confused; our clothes suggested high status, but their ripped edges made room for debate. Ignoring his odd looks, I perused the merchandise. The owner obviously intended for the shop to appeal to men; button up shirts in all colors and earthy trousers dominated the racks. But he also sold for women; skirts mingled with the pants.

Snatching off the racks a wine button up, dark caramel vest and tan trousers; all of them one size bigger. My sister obviously got my intentions and grabbed some clothes of her own. Racing to the dressing room, I found a stall for us. Changing into the ensemble, I rolled the waist of the pants a little. Tightening my bindings, I unbuttoned a single button on my shirt. Pulling the bottom of my pants over my dark brown boots, I surveyed myself. The rectangular mirror wasn't flattering, but it wasn't as if I was trying to look pretty. Pleased with the fact that it hid most of my feminine features, I cuffed my shirt to just below my elbows. Tying my medium dark brown hair into a french braid, I smoothed out the wrinkles in my face.

My sister had changed into some clothes too; her outfit more feminine than mine. She had grabbed a plaid orange skirt that went no further than below her knees. A short-sleeved tan button up was layered above a elbow length forest green shirt. A perfectly tied light orange tie rested on her collarbone. Her shirt resembled mine; with only one button down. Caramel boots covered her tired feet. Her hair was let down, reaching just above her shoulders. She still had some books in her hand; and I held our lilac bag.

Content with our looks, we payed the tailor generously. Exiting the establishment, I pulled my sister to the side. One thing had to be cleared up_; How were we supposed to make a living?_

"So, what do we do now?"

Sighing, she looked to the side; she was giving in to my untold wish concerning our occupations.

"I _suppose _we could gamble..."

Letting out a chuckle, I hugged her. My sister was talented at playing poker; she could rig games with flair. But that is not why I wanted to be gamblers; that was due to the fact that players usually were too busy trying to win. While they would situate their cards, I would pickpocket money off them. Winning would ensure that we had more than enough money, but in the case that one of our clientele called bluff, we had to have a back-up plan. _And the fact that I love to steal from the unsuspecting._

Pulling out of the corner, I spotted the perfect spot for our debut; a shabby little restaurant called Tibby's. Giving my sister a tell-tale smirk, I headed into the diner with my head held high. As the door swished to a close, I could feel all eyes on me. Looking all of the young men over, I flashed my defiant eyes at them. But one table caught my attention; in a booth near the windows sat a newsies smoking a cigar and his friends. They all held cards in their hands; one by one they folded. The one with the cigar flashed a triumphant smile and folded last; he had won. His friends groaned and frowned as he hauled their money away. _Perfect, a boy who doubts he can lose. _

Closing in on my first victim, I heard my sisters light steps follow. Without asking for them to scoot, I situated myself in the seat across the smoking boy. It held only one person in it; a tall foreign-looking boy wearing an olive green shirt. My sister took the seat across from me, squishing the winner and a young man with a bandanna. Placing my elbows on the beaten table, I placed my hands in each other and leaned forward. My sister had her serious face on; one she always wore when she was determined to win.

"Wat you'se need, shortie?"

Flinching at the name, I brushed it off; it was true, for both me and my sister were extremely short for our age. Osie answered for me instead, stating,

"I would like to play."

Before the boy could open his mouth again, she added,

"My sister is just watching."

Nodding, I set a charming smile on my face; placing my hands on either side of my lap. Dealing cards to Osie and himself, he switched to a poker face. His friend was looking over his shoulder, and was not as good at concealing his emotions. After going well into the game, my hands started to twitch. They were going to fold soon; _Better grab some scratch now._

Keeping my face directed at my twin, I felt my way across the booth. Stopping, I hovered right around the suspender boy's pant's pocket; I could tell by the tingling feeling in my hand. Propping my elbow onto the table, I waited for the precise moment to attack. In a quick spasm, I reached over to my sister, and _accidentally _knocked over the cup, that poured out onto the boy next to me. Using that brief surprise, I reached my hand into his pocket.

Before I could send a quick sorry his way, the boy snatched my wrist. He was holding it lightly, but his grip was hard. Shock numbed the slight pain and I kept my other hand by my side; _I must admit I wasn't expecting this._

"Excuse me ma'am, but I'd rather you not steal from me."

If I hadn't been listening carefully to his words, I would have mistaken them for a question; in actuality it sounded more like he was commanding me to tell him. Giving him one of my grade A innocent smiles, reserved for extreme cases, I asked sweetly,

"What do you mean?"

His hazel eyes filled with knowledge; and my chocolate ones widened. The sound of Osie's cards hitting the table told me she was ready to bolt. Not turning to my twin, I heard the boy reply,

"You were trying to steal from me."

My sweet smile turned sultry, and my eyes fell to half-lidded. Leaning closer to his face, I ignored my twin's worried looks_._ Lightly chuckling, I answered him like a teacher would a confused student,

"You misunderstand my intentions. I just wanted to get into your pants."

Sending a nasty left hook with my free hand, I saw Osie out of the corner of my eye leave. In a mad dash, I snatched my bag out of the booth. Before exiting through the door, I flashed all the young men a deviant smile and used my aching hand to tip an invisible hat. It left a smile on my face to know that the surprised boys had not noticed I stole the money on the table; _right under their noses._

_I think that went quite well._


	3. Asking Brooklyn

_(Osie's point of view)_

The wood on the pier creaked under my feet no matter how desperately I attempted to sneak around. Mittie looked at me as if to tell me to hurry up. I shot her the scariest look I could muster. She smiled. I had still not forgiven her for ruining our chances of survival yesterday. Mittie was the _reason_ I had to go to Brooklyn.

_ God, I was going to die in Brooklyn's streets._

A few boys were wandering around aimlessly, eyes giving us a run-through before continuing. Either they found no need to defend their strongest, their leader, or we posed no threat. I didn't need to think twice to know the answer to that. Mittie stopped walking with me, and I knew I would have to do this alone. Giving her a curt nod, I continued on my path. So, I knew a lot of things. For instance, I knew the likelihood of Spot Conlon, the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies, laughing at my proposal and then "soaking" me was high. Too high.

I was lead by a string of newsies towards the center of the board walk, each wood route branching up and down, left and right. There, a face hidden by brown hair, sat the Devil. I sighed; I was making a deal with the devil. Crowding the exits, the newsies encouraged me with their eyes. I wanted to laugh; they were just their for the show.

"You'se gonna just do noitin'?"

I lifted my head, looking at those two bottomless pits for eyes. Another cold laugh erupted in my head. I was going to fall apart unless I could answer _one _question. I had managed to squeak out in response,

"I've come to ask, kindly, for a loan."

Spot pushed his hair out of his face, with his cap and laughed. The other newsies stayed silent. It was official;

_Brooklyn hated me._

"What's a street rat like you'se doin' talkin' like a someboidy?"

I glared at him, only to bring out a laugh. I dropped the insult and shook my head. Now wasn't the time to let that familial anger come over me. If I were Mittie, I'd probably spit out something like, _'I'm here for a loan, whats your excuse?'_. But I'm not my sister, not Mittie. I have more brains than that. Ignoring his question, I continued,

"I need a room and board, but I don't have the connections or money."

"And why do you'se think I would, fella?"

I cringed at the thought that I looked like a boy; I had changed into an extra pair of trousers. Without thinking, my anger fueling me, I snapped at him,

"You're right. Why would I come to someone like you-"

Spot had me by the collar, but I continued,

"A Brooklyn _fella_ would have anything?"

He wasn't hurt by my mocking of his accent but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. He was enjoying this.

"Not a smart thing to do, talk bad about Brooklyn."

He motioned to the boys around me. I narrowed my eyes, bringing my eyebrows as low as possible. It was the best I could do without jeopardizing the deal. Shrugging, Spot let me go and whistled all the way back to his throne. Sitting down, he let out a cocky smile.

"Soak 'em."

He held his hand up as the newsies lifted their fists. Tipping his head to me, he winked. I felt all my dignity and pride dissolve.

"And then give 'em his money."


	4. Just For Lunch

_(Mittie's point of view)_

Osie had left as soon as her stomach was filled with breakfast. She had not yet run out of fuel, or swears, to scold me for my reckless antics, but she claimed she had other things to do. Bring us closer to the docks, she gave me a curt nod before departing. She had told me before to head out and get some food. Heading down to the marketplace, I eyed the food vendors longingly. Right now, our purse could not afford any of their food;

_How do they even get costumers with such unreasonable prices?_

_If you had done your part right, we would have enough money._

The voice in the back of my head nagged. Such thoughts made me regret my past actions, but not for long. So tucking my guilt away for later lamenting, I strolled across the busy street. Swiftly brushing past pedestrians, I headed towards an alley.

Sitting down, I laid my ear across the brick blocks. Angling my face to get a better view of the stand next to me, I glanced at the baker. Fresh baked bread lined his stall, the smell over-whelming. Gripping the edge of the wall, I murmured to myself,

"If I steal then Osie will get mad at me, for being 'un-ethical'. But if I pay and waste what little money we have, Osie will be infuriated with me. I could always just out-run the bulls, for what Osie don't know won't hurt her..."

My resolve rock solid, I licked all the fingers on my left hand. Placing my right hand on the brick wall to steady myself, I teetered forward. Slowly, and surely, my hand grazed the baked good. In a flash I was on my feet and running, and joyful smile on my lips. Winding in and out of the crowd, my vest trailed behind me; it took quite some expertise to not trip over my pant's legs. Tucking the fresh bread under my left arm, I kept the other arm close to me.

Panting, I had successfully left the marketplace; and by the looks of it, nearly Manhattan itself. Surprise intruded my face; I hadn't realized I could and had run all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge.

_What an overkill. _

Resting my throbbing feet, I sat on the bridge and dangled my legs over the side. Unable to look down out of fear, I placed my bread next to me; my hand encircling it. Another warm hand had grasped mine; believing it was Osie, I questioned,

"Where have you been Osie-"

Looking up, shock flooded my systems; it was _not_ Osie. Desperately trying to rip my hand from his, I forgot about the bread; Instead all I could register was that I was facing the boy from last night. His grip increased incredibly, different from the light hold from last night. Pulling me upright roughly, I looked up at the boy. Paying more attention this time, I soaked in his features.

He was by far one of the tallest boys I have met yet; being three times my size, not quite an accomplishment when you factor in the fact I'm a midget. His Asian eyes suggest that he had come from far, and his skin was colored such. His black hair was shaggy and drifted to one side, revealing the scar that went across his cheek. Hazel eyes with wisdom exceeding his age stared at me. He was wearing his button down shirt from last night, and brown trousers paired with black loafers.

A maroon tailored jacket was new though, along with the tan bag and newspapers; he was probably busy selling until he caught sight of me. Looking around as if hoping no one was there, his eyes grew sad for a second. Then with a sigh, and informed me,

"My boss wants to see you, ma'am."

Obviously the boy did not wish to bring me to him, but it seemed he needed to; otherwise he wouldn't be using excessive force. Striking out with my right hand, which missed, I hissed,

"Yeah, well I doubt I'd like to see him."

My resistance was futile though, for he simply hauled me across the bridge. Frozen frigid out of fear, I ordered myself not to look down. The newsie had not noticed my lack of movement, or just chose not to acknowledge it. Dragging me the final length of steel bridge, we crossed into Brooklyn. In a burst, my heart started to race and my eyes darted from side to side; Brooklyn was a place far worse than the Bronx. Walking past an alley, which I had unfortunately looked into, I saw a bloody mass. Sardonically, I muttered,

"Brooklyn just keeps getting better and better."


	5. Meeting Brooklyn

_(Mittie's point of view)_

The young man in a dashing red jacket pulled me behind him. The place was easy to recognize; it was the dock that Osie and I had been heading to. _Wait..._ Osie couldn't have possibly actually went there; that was suicide. From what I've heard about Brooklyn, that's where it's toughest newsies went for a dunk. Glancing up at the young man who had kidnapped me, I noticed he too was heading there. _Damn._

Taking a deep breathe, I licked the bottom of my teeth. Shutting my eyes hard, I lunged at the boy's hand, grasping it with my teeth. A swear escaped through his pursed lips, and he struggled to free himself from my grip. Gnawing at his skin, I tread carefully over veins; I hated blood. Sure, I could see it and be fine, but the thought of it was absolutely disgusting; I had no wish to have it in my mouth.

Ripping my teeth harshly off his skin, I caught a glimpse of his irritated skin; _Smooth._ Pushing me to the ground, my backside collided with the wood dock. I hadn't noticed that we had slowly but surely creeped up to the place I had been trying to avoid. Rubbing my head that had taken quite a rush, I slowly opened my dazed eyes.

"M-Mittie?"

Swinging my head around, I stared into my face; _Osie._ My mouth hanging open, a second wind came over me. Surrounding my tiny sister were a bunch of brawny boys. Her head was just barely visible, but I could make out her shocked face anywhere. Scrambling quickly to get up, I pushed past the boys. Feeling a hand on my shoulder to stop me, I scowled and sent a anger-fueled punch at the boy that dared touch me. Not wishing to fight with these street-hardened newsies, I quickened my pace. Brushing shoulders with a couple boys, I finally reached the center.

"What the hell are you doing, Osie?"

Not answering, she sent me a look that clearly read, _Shut-up, or you'll regret it._ But my mouth kept going, and I carried on with my rant,

"Why are you in Brooklyn? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is? Why didn't you bring me? You know I love the thrill! Wait, why are you even at the docks? Why not in the market-place, or a realtor-"

An iron-clasp quieted my words. Someone's tanned hand had reached my mouth, in an effort to shut me up. Not in the mood to play, I elbowed my holder in the lower ribs, for that was as low as I wished to go; _For now. _Whipping around, I pushed the boy away, and hissed,

"Don't. Touch. Me."

Grey-blue eyes stormed at me, and a slight frown was on his face. My sister took my hand and pulled me back, whispering into my ear,

"I'll explain everything later; but please don't get him mad."

Observing the boy that had tried to calm me down, I took in his features. He was about a head taller than me, shorter than most boys his age; which I guessed was two years older than mine, probably fifteen. His lightly tanned skin was muddled with ink, and his childish face was contorted in fury; his piercing stormy eyes glared down at me.

His nose was upturned, although it could have just been my perspective and tensed muscles protruded from his clothes. His chest was barely covered by a half-buttoned grey plaid shirt, and a golden key hung on a necklace over it. The brown belt holding up his similar colored pants was armed with a slingshot and his free hand wielded a gold-tipped cane.

Taking a deep breathe, yet again, I cocked my hip and placed a nimble hand on it. Twirling my braid in my hand, I looked from my sister and back to the mysterious boy. _Any other day, and I would have shrugged him off to nothing; But we're in Brooklyn, and facts don't get over-looked here._

"Dis the goilie dat tried to steal from you'se, Fox?"

The Asian boy, Fox, answered with hesitance,

"Yes, Spot."

_Spot...Spot. Have I heard that before?_ But Spot just turned back to me, and smirked, saying to Fox,

"And I'se be heah thinkin' dat dese ah real close, wouldn't ya say?"

_Uh! It's at the tip of my tongue...Was it Lady Annabelle's dog?_ I was too caught up in my thoughts to notice that my sister was tugging at my hand; she probably wanted to leave. I caught onto what this Spot character was saying; sticking my hand in my mouth, I gagged.

"Gross; I don't know about Brooklyn, but where I come from, sisters can't date each other."

A slap rang out behind me, as Osie hit herself on the forehead; Osie had tried to keep that from them. _Haha...Sorry._ Fox had this confused look on his face, before repeating,

"Sisters? Twins?"

Spot himself had taken the surprise in hand; unaffected. Leaning on his black cane, he picked it up and straightened his spine. Turning his back towards us, he started to walk down the dock. Shrugging, I turned back to Fox, about to answer his question sarcastically, when Spot called behind him agitatedly,

"Let's walk."


	6. Board and Breakfest

_(Osie's point of view)_

There were still bruises all over my body from the "soaking". I could remember the look of victory on the boys' faces when my legs gave under me and I couldn't stand any longer. They didn't act like geniuses, but they knew what they were doing. Everywhere they hit was somewhere cloth and fabric would rub against and hide. I'd been itchy all day. But one could say I owed them my due thanks; this way Mittie wouldn't overreact and murder someone.

_At least we have our money._

Spot had run on ahead and was waiting for Mittie and I at one of his hangouts, a place he'd told us to meet him for what he called,

"Sweet mudder Brooklyn". I withheld my laughter. Earlier I'd looked at this same kid with spite and disgust, and I still held that. But now fear took hold of me when I saw him, and even if my gaze didn't testify to that, I could tell Spot knew the knowledge of the unknown, huh? I shivered; Symptoms of demonic possession.

We went past a couple of nice apartments where board was expensive but luxurious; Conlon made sure to steer away from those. Eventually we came into view with the sorriest excuse of lodging I'd ever seen. And I lived in the bushes with beetles and worms once. The newsies' king smiled in a sickly sweet way,

"Welcome to Billy's Board and Breakfast."

Spot was having all too much good fun bringing us inside of the drab old building. Inside the walls were painted a sickly pastel yellow - it made me regret the choice to make yellow my favorite color, if only for a few seconds. The tables were fake leather and some wooden, mismatched in a eerily purposed way. One could only think who was interior decorating the entire establishment.

The tables were littered with newspapers, paperboy hats, and fake cigars - mint leaves rolled in old linen which couldn't even be smoked and were all for show. It'd become a fad recently when newsies realized some women liked men who smoked. I scoffed at the guys pretending to drop ash onto the windowsill as the waitresses walked by, only to stuff the emptied mint leaves back inside the linen.

Sitting us down at a window table, Spot waved at a waitress to come forward, and she smiled sweetly. I almost threw up - what was this woman, a concubine for the devil? I shook my head at her. That poor weak-willed creature, falling into the grasp of evil. With a smile on her face.

A kid with a vest sauntered over, hair slicked back with gel and a cocky smile on his face; a smile that could rival Spot Conlon's. From the looks of him, he was Italian - just as I could tell from the looks of Brooklyn that no one had questioned their leader about his suspender color choice. Even the Italian looked at them warily, as if he were about to mock them but was second-guessing himself. Then, without a second thought, he slid in next to me, as if he could let the bright red suspenders pass if he stole Spot's seat.

"Racetrack, jump outta my seat, will youse?"

"Fuhgeddaboutit, Brooklyn baby."

Racetrack was so consumed in getting on Spot's bad side, he didn't realize Mittie had successfully stolen three going on four dollars from inside his cigar, hidden in between the mesh of mint leaves. Spot raised an eyebrow, but didn't persist, rolling his head around to release tension. The Italian newsie rested his feet on the table, turning just as Mittie stuffed five dollars down her blouse. I stared pointedly at his shoes, unpolished and muddy, but he gave me a small nod.

"Ya hired rookies, eh? Ya losing your spark, Spottie. Ya losing that allure. Even these broads fancy me more than ya."

He winked at the waitress ready to take our order, hand playing with the fringe on his vest. Seeing her return the wink, I rolled my eyes. Time to slap sense into that woman.

Grabbing Racetrack's hand, I smiled at Racetrack.

"Taken, sweetheart. So sorry."

He rolled his hand out from mine and smiled nervously. The waitress gave us a once-over and shrugged, while Spot started us off with only water and lemon. Racetrack wiped his hand on his vest, smiling brightly while his eyes twinkled playfully.

"Real funny, real funny. I don't swing, sorry."

He let out another laugh. I gave him another look, trying to figure out what he meant. Swing? I looked at my sister. She made two circles with her hands, the circle being our symbol for boys, and brought them together. I lurched towards Racetrack.

"Swing? I'm a g-"

I whipped my head back around. The Italian raised an eyebrow and patted my shoulder. He obviously thought it was just a joke. And of course, it was.

But, I had a feeling that Spot wasn't the worst of the newsies, not anymore.


	7. Tour of Brooklyn

_(Osie's point of view)_

The room which was given to us was drafty and pathetic. The beds were made sloppily, covers falling half off and pillows leaking newspaper. Everything smelled of mothballs and lint, the light showing off cobwebs of in the corners and on the window. I suddenly began subconsciously tiding everything up, unpacking my suitcase wearily. Before we'd gone to Spot, I'd checked all the orphanages and got some more clothes. I quickly changed into fresh clothe, sparing a glance at the bruises on my stomach and back. Checking the cracked mirror to make sure no hairs were sticking out of my neat tiny braids. Throwing on a cap, I locked the door behind me.

And bumped into a jumpy Italian.

"Da-"

I caught myself quickly, as if expecting a nun to hover over me with a ruler_. No swearing Miss Jacan. Lest you lead the wrong path..._ I shuddered. Damn that nun training. Racetrack was laughing, and then lifted his head up to see me.

"Whattaya? A pilgrim?"

I touched my braid and frowned; it wasn't_ that_ long. Dusting himself off, the New York newsie held out a hand for me. I swatted it away and stood up.

"I thought you liked holding hands."

I didn't even look at him and I knew he was smirking.

"Shuddup. What are you here for?"

Racetrack didn't blink at my word choice but shuffled his feet anxiously.

"Y'know, I realized my wallet was gone. Funny, huh?"

I put my hand on the doorknob behind me, ready to run. Not _another _sucker looking for his money. I was just about to spend it. On what, I have no idea. But I was going to for sure.

"No big deal, slick. Just hear me out. You and ya brudda have a gift. You just ain't pickin' the right folks. Follow me. Ya'll see.

It took me a second to remember that to him, we were both boys. Mittie still had her hair up and under her hat, and mine could pass for a boy's. Smiling internally, I made a note to use that against this boy later. I watched Mittie round the corner with her lilac bag and suitcases. She put them down silently and raised her fists, ready to pound him so I could flee. I nodded to him, but held my hands in a signal to her. I crossed my arms- no trouble. She smiled and announced herself loudly,

"So...where are we going, 'slick'?"

* * *

><p>Brooklyn held many fine jewels; things of beautiful homes and graceful ladies. And then, there was that other Brooklyn, the one that the newsies liked to frequent so much it made one wonder. What was there hidden in this other Brooklyn? Treasure? Adventure? Romance? The answer could be found in one of this other Brooklyn's finest establishments, Rook's Card and Pool.<p>

There was absolutely nothing hidden in this other Brooklyn, except for fat old men and filthy bathrooms.  
>Rook's was a lot like Billy's, with the torn wallpaper and the complete disarray which signaled either neglect or nuclear warfare. Men would lean over a pool table and shoot at the white ball – or was it black? - and then others would sit down with a game of cards. And then there was another group of people, newsies or young men in particular, who would play around with their fake cigars, flip the waitress's skirts, and gamble with money they didn't have. Of course, Racetrack immediately took to these surroundings, and became the anti-Spot we all knew and loved.<p>

And yes, he did flip skirts.

Mittie and I sat down, my sister chewing on her bottom lip as she clenched and unclenched her fists. Whenever she chewed her lips, it was a telltale sign of anger at idiots. I looked where she was burning a hole into with her wrath. Ah, the Italian. Why did he even bring us to this junkyard? It was bad enough we had to live in Billy's for the time being. But now we had to entertain these butt-hungry chumps? Even I wanted to clock that wannabe. That is, if I even had the ability.

Calling us over, Racetrack seated us and told us the name of the game at last.

"Osie can deal, while Mittie steals. Perfect, huh?"

I punched him in the face. Turns out I did have the ability to clock someone. The other newsies were staring at me, and I smiled politely. Brooklyn had many fine jewels, that enough was obvious. Then there were the rocks and pebbles, like the newsies. I spit at their feet and watched as each face turned beet red. The owner came over, ready to yell at the boys for their harassment of his hired. Mittie and I bolted – my hand over my forehead so I could tell if I was delusional or not, and her hand clutching the wallets of Brooklyn's finest.

* * *

><p>While my sister went to deposit some of our money at a bank – the only place the newsies wouldn't dare to be seen in – I slipped into the bath. The tub wasn't nearly as bad as the rest of the room. Luckily, there was someone who went in everyday and scrubbed it down, leaving a small fee in return. Anything, I'd pay anything for a good bath. The water was warm, and the tub wasn't too small. The only downside was that the curtain had fallen down. After a quick soak, I drained the water and wrapped a towel around my body.<p>

"Osie!"

I flipped around, looking at the doorknob jiggling around. When I heard that annoying Italian accent, I smirked. Just the thought of having punched him was sublime. Then I looked down. Da – shoot, evil nun trauma. Drying myself off, I checked the lock on the door and stuck a chair underneath it. The Italian slid down to sit, so I followed suit and sat as far away from the door as possible. Underneath the bed. One could never be too careful.

"Hey, I'm sorry about today. Thought you needed a little cash."

"More like thought you needed a little cash."

I felt my voice crack, and heard Racetrack laugh at it. I pursed my lips. How could I be getting scared when the idiot was behind the door and I was safe underneath a bed? Closing my eyes, I braced myself for the stupid retort that would come next. Something like didn't know you were that young Osie, or the ladies don't like squeaky men Osie. I chuckled to myself. As if he'd know better than a lady herself.

"An'ways, just came to apologize. Consider that the only 'sorry' you'll ever get out of a newsie."

"Even Spot?"

I bit my tongue. Why would Spot say sorry? Just because he'd beaten up a girl without realizing it doesn't mean anything. He was supposed to be ruthless. What a stupid question to ask. Racetrack didn't laugh this time. I heard him get up and rest his head against the door.

"Even Spot."


	8. Run of the Fruit Vendor

After a rather uneventful deposit at the bank, other than adults saying 'get out of here you dirty cur!' , which changed after I showed them my money, I returned to the board. Unlocking the door to our room, I was greeted with a shriek of indignance. Osie was getting dressed, and by the discarded towel at her feet I guessed, after taking a bath. She had just started to put on her pants, and had not expected me to burst in. At first I made nothing of the scene, I took off my vest and rolled up my sleeves; it was rather hot.

But my innate ability to detect deciet, as well as decieve, caused my eyes to flick back towards her._ Were those? No, they couldn't be. Osie would have told me... Right? Only one way to find out. _Cutting across the floor hastily, I carefully rolled up my twin's sleeves. Before, her shirt sleeves would have hidden the blue spots, but now she had changed into a short sleeved shirt. Bruises dotted above her elbow and no doubt beyond, weaving a trail around her arms. Infuriated at the mere thought of someone hurting my sister, I clasped my hands on her shoulders and asked,

"Who did this?"

"It isn't your fault that you weren't there to help me Mittie."

I cut her short and repeated, albeit this time in a lower tone,

"Who did this?"

Well-aware of my ability to be as stubborn as a mule, Osie relented quietly,

"Brooklyn."

Rage boiled up inside me; that was why those boys were huddled around her before. And that kid... Dot Colin? He was to blame; after all, he is the leader. Clenching my fist, I vowed vengeance. Turning around, I saw my sisters worried look in the corner of my eye. Before I could assure that I wouldn't try anything, she spoke up,

"Promise me you won't try anything."

Pouting, I knew I was stuck. A promise was a very important thing to my sister; she had experience with people not keeping to their word. With such a fragile thing like the mind, that could collapse with anymore misery, I had to be careful. And skirting around the truth or finding a loophole was not a good thing. Grasping her pinky as I have done before, I solemnly swore,

"I promise."

* * *

><p>My feet sounded against the cobblestone adorned streets. Taking long and deep breathes, a blissful smile conquered my lips. Sparing a glance behind me, I only saw the blurs of people I passed by. Dull and drab colors such as black, brown and grey flashed around me. And in the middle of that sea, was a small dollop of green.<p>

_She was catching up._

Dodging people left and right, I weaved through the crowd with grace. Noble men held onto their top-hats, their hands clutching the rims. If I wasn't in a rush, I would have stopped to pick their pockets; but they were lucky, for catching me in the middle of a run. Looking up and not ahead, I tripped on a loose cobblestone. My hands flew out, catching onto the corner of a fruit stand, to steady my unbalanced body.

Unfortunately, this stand was horribly constructed by a crack-pot carpenter who had spent nights drinking; this resulted in one of the legs cracking and the table falling. Fruit rolled everywhere, a surprised shriek reaching my ears; _Damn._ In a sudden panic, everyone dodged the fruit stand, except for me who was stuck underneath the stand itself; not one person stopped to help me.

More annoyed than hurt, I tried to push the remnants of the cart of my body. The smell of sickly sweet fruit permeated around me, light-headedness making it hard to exert my body. I chose to ignore the wetness around my lower leg, where it started to sting. Debris had trapped my part of my upper body and all of the lower. Stopping to catch my breath, my arms seized to push; the air harshly being pushed into my crushed lungs. I wouldn't bother to call for help; no doubt that no one would come. And there I would stay until I could regain my strength; it didn't help that my sister that I would be at the docks.

We had been racing, something that excited us both. It was to run off the guilty feeling I had for betraying my sister; I knew I wouldn't keep my promise. Osie and I always ran before a meal too, so that we could eat to our hearts content without worrying about growing fat. Maybe she would notice that I was late and hurry around the borough to look for me. _No… She would probably get lost._ I didn't want her to get into trouble because of me, for there would be no one to take care of her.

Except for Spot Conlon. Assuming that part of our contract was that we were under his protection. Yet, I didn't want her to be with him either; it would be an understatement to say I didn't trust him. Men worked for only themselves, using others to get to their own goals. He probably has a shadowy reason for helping us. _The last person I would want to help me would be him._

A sharp prod hit my back, causing a hiss to escape my lips; it was probably the fruit vendor back to see if anything had survived. Footsteps could be heard going around the debris. Through the only visible light source, I saw one thing: a cane. That thing was menacing, a shadow of a gentlemen that had gotten mixed up in horrible business. And right now, I was being prodded at like cattle with it. Letting out a grunt, to at least inform him of my position, I readied myself for a scolding. Switching quickly, pant clad legs came into view.

"Anybody down heah?"

Blinking, I realized that the voice sounded familiar; but I didn't know anyone with a cane… Wood shifted above me, causing dust to rush into my face. Coughing and sneezing until my throat grew dry and my eyes started to blur. Once the dust cleared, and I could regain some visibility, I found that my arm now had more space to move. My eyes still recovering from the previous attack, I hastily reached for something I could get a handle on. Once my hands found something, I pulled; planning on pulling myself out of the wreckage. A surprised yell came from above and before I could let go of what appeared to be the vendor's leg, he fell on top of me.

Apparently, the vendor had been trying to pull wood off on me, resulting in him stretching over me. He had successfully found me and cleared away most of the debris but was now cutting of my air supply. His chest had landed right on top of my head, a tell-tale crack promising an acute concussion. Without thinking, my arms went into over drive, scratching and pushing the man off of me. A small struggle ensued, but I did manage to put some space between us. Once away, I stared into his blue eyes. A scowl marred his face and his dirty blonde hair was mussed up. Blinking a couple of times to make sure that my eye sight wasn't faulty, I finally spoke up,

"I didn't know you sold fruit."


End file.
